


Kidnapping People From Their Christmas Vacation is NOT Cool! (That One Time Darcy Spent Christmas in 1936)

by WintersFangirl



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Kidnapping, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-02 13:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17265290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WintersFangirl/pseuds/WintersFangirl
Summary: For McgregorsWench's 2018 ShieldShock Fic Exchange.Darcy Lewis is prepared to have the best Christmas of her life. She and Steve have been invited to Asgard to spend the holiday, but plans go awry when Darcy gets kidnapped and taken to Vanaheim. While there, she falls through a portal and lands in Brooklyn in 1936, and immediately crashes into pre-serum Steve.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [McGregorsWench](https://archiveofourown.org/users/McGregorsWench/gifts).



> This is my first work on AO3, and I'm on mobile, so if the formatting is off I'm sorry and I'll fix it!
> 
> I was given four prompts to choose from and I ended up combining two of them:  
> Fluffy, snow-filled, Christmas-time, first meeting of soulmates. If you can work in Sarah's reaction to her son's words, and/or her worry that he may never meet his soulmate....I love the idea of Darcy meeting Sarah or somehow receiving her blessings....
> 
> Time travel....Darcy ends up in the early 1940s, or during Steve's USO/Howling Commandos. She tries to make her way home, but is waylaid by Christmas with Steve....when she returns home, heartbroken, she soon realizes that she's pregnant....this is the Christmas after the events of Infinity War, so she doesn't know where Steve is or if he's even still alive, it's possible that the word was put out that Steve had been killed/or thought killed during the conflict....she finally finds him, and is able to reunite with him.

A cold wind ripped through Steve Rogers, feeling like knives on his skin. The snow had come early this year, making his trudge to and from work harder than usual. Still, he was in a good mood. He had avoided the annual bout of pneumonia (so far), and he’d managed to hold down his job at the newspaper long enough to get a raise, and it was almost Christmas. There was something else, too, some extra bit of optimism that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Steve just felt lucky today.

He glanced at his arm, coat blocking the view of his soulmarks. “Maybe I’ll meet one of you today,” he mused as he walked along the busy, snow-covered sidewalk. Wouldn’t that be something.

He’d asked his Ma what the words on his arm meant when he was in grade school and learning to read. The first set was easy enough—what are you doing out in this weather was an unusual first line, but gave a reasonable expectation of the place of meeting. The second set was more puzzling. The symbols scrawled messily across his skin weren’t anything he recognized, but he was only just starting school. Maybe they were some letters his teacher hadn’t taught him yet. Sarah Rogers had given him a kind smile, and explained that they were in a different language, so she couldn’t read them. 

Steve had taken it in stride—after all, he lived in New York, which hosted a wide variety of cultures and languages. And if he didn’t meet his soulmate in the city, then maybe he would get to travel.

Sarah, on the other hand, worried, sometimes, about her son finding his soulmate. He had two sets of words, which was uncommon but not unusual. Sometimes the first Soulmate doesn’t work out. Sometimes a person undergoes a significant change in life. Sometimes there were instances of triad relationships, but that was beyond rare, and instinct told her that that wasn’t what her son’s words were. Sometimes the second Soulmark was one signifying a platonic bond—Steven’s second mark could be that. But the unfamiliar symbols on his arm concerned her, because she didn’t know what they said. There was no way for her to try to anticipate what type of person her son’s soulmate would be. Still, knowing there was at least one person who was meant for Steven, who was supposed to love him unconditionally to way she did, was comforting.

  
This was not what Darcy had planned for her visit to Asgard. She’d expected some wild parties, many strong drinks, snuggling with Steve (a continuation of their Hanukah love fest), and the best skating in the Nine Realms. She’d pull a prank with Loki and bake cookies with Steve and they could finally have that conversation they’d been tiptoeing towards. They’d share stories with the Asgardians around a fire at Christmas and on New Year’s Eve she’d kiss Steve under the lights of a thousand other galaxies. And she had gotten some of that—there had been a party, though it was formal and reasonably tame, and Steve had promised hot chocolate and cuddles afterwards—but somewhere along the way things had taken a turn away from romantic and towards fun-ruining. 

Darcy didn’t get her Asgardian Christmas, or her New Year’s Eve kiss, or to finally have the whole “we should have kids” conversation with Steve. Instead, some tall, angelic-looking beings broke in to her room, did some hand-waving bullshit, and guided her through a glowy hole in the wall that definitely used to be a tapestry. None of that was on the to-do list, and her mind felt a little fuzzy. 

She awoke in an unfamiliar room with a chalky feeling in her mouth. She sat up and rubbed her face, feeling the blanket prints in her skin left from a deep sleep. She tried to sort out what exactly had happened, and reason her way through a plan of escape. First, she had to figure out what she knew, or what she could learn, about her current predicament.

She’d been kidnapped, and brought to a realm that was probably very nice at any other time of year. It was warm and sunny, not too humid, and a light breeze carried a delicate, floral scent to the tower she was being kept in. The tower she was in had a great view of a courtyard below. It was also nicely furnished, she noticed, no apparent torture devices in sight. There was no door either—how did I get in here? She was still wearing the gown she’d had on Asgard. Someone (probably her kidnappers) had brought some food that looked and smelled delicious. Darcy’s stomach growled—when had she eaten last? What time was it, even? 

She felt around on her person for her evening bag, in search of her phone. Hopefully, the otherworldly kidnappers hadn’t taken it. “A-hah!” she hissed gleefully upon finding the delicate bag still hanging across her person, once again grateful for choosing to keep the long strap instead of carrying it. She snapped the silky purple clutch open, and dumped the contents of the tiny bag out in her lap. 

Her headphones, Chapstick, lipstick, her beloved taser, and several Asgardian coins Thor had given her came spilling out, along with her phone. She grabbed it frantically, and checked the time. She’d been off-Earth for three days, but she didn’t have an equivalent to that span of time on Asgard. She knew that Thor had said the days were longer there… But how long were the days wherever she was now? 

Still seeing no signs of other life, she decided to yell for help. 

“Does anyone here speak English? Or Spanish? Sign language? Hebrew?” She was a bit rusty on her ASL, and most of her Spanish vocab was not for polite conversation, but she had to try. “Hello! I have a life to get back to! People to see, stuff to do!”

Still, no one came.

“My fiancé is going to be so pissed! So’s my Lightning brother!” she yelled. “You probably know him—Thor? Future king of Asgard. Kidnapping people from their Christmas vacation is not cool!”

And still, no response. Darcy sighed and leaned against the stone wall of the tower room. There was no door, so she couldn’t just walk out. There were plenty of windows, so maybe those could be an escape route? But where would she escape to? She was in an unknown realm, and definitely didn’t know how to get back to Asgard, let alone Earth. 

Steve would figure out a way to escape if he were here. “Steve fights evil scientists an Nazis for a living,” Darcy muttered. “He could totally get out of here.” She wished he were with her, or that she could talk to him. She ignored the nagging knowledge that he would tell her to stay put. “Time to channel your inner Steve, Darcy.” Sparing a quick glance at her soulmarks, she willed them to lead her back to Steve.

And then she began to plan.  
͠͠͠͠͠͠ ͠͠ ͠ ͠ ͠ ͠ ͠ ͠ ͠ ͠ ͠ ͠ ͠ ͠

Steve was not panicking. He was completely calm and level-headed when he burst into Thor’s private sitting area. He was definitely fine when he uttered the words: “Darcy’s gone.” (Totally fine. Not worried at all.)

“Gone where?” Jane asked, giggling. She had had several glasses of mulled wine that evening, and they were finally catching up with her. She lounged sprawled-out across a sofa, Thor standing behind her, fingers twisting in her hair.

“Gone as in disappeared. She’s not in our room, or in the gardens, or anywhere else. Have you seen her in the past hour?” Steve tried to remain calm—after all, Darcy wandered off all the time. She liked to go explore things, and she could be impulsive. It was very likely that something had caught her curiosity and she had decided to investigate. 

Thor laughed, and continued deftly twisting small braids into Jane’s hair. “Oh! We have a Christmas tradition with Vanaheim. They sneak in and capture one of us, and we sneak in and capture one of them, and then we hide the captive while the other side searches for them. It’s great fun—no one intends malice. The Lady Darcy will be unharmed,” he explained. “Though there must have been a mistake in her capture—we are not supposed to capture guests from other realms.”

“So, we go to Vanaheim to get her back?” Steve asked, panic rising in his chest. 

“Yes, but we haven’t yet captured one of their citizens yet. It’s not fair for us to have the fun of a search, and for them to have nothing.” Thor did not seem concerned in the slightest, which should have calmed Steve. It didn’t.

“Thor!”

“They will not hurt Darcy, Captain. It would be akin to an act of war to harm a guest of Asgard, especially my Lightning Sister.” This reassurance did not comfort Steve, however, and Thor reconsidered his plan of action. “Perhaps this year we could switch up the tradition a bit.”

“Thank you.” 

Thor hesitated a moment. “There is one thing…”

“What?”

“The people of Vanaheim travel through portals. It is how they sneak into Asgard for our traditional holiday kidnappings. A Bifrost journey at this hour will alert the entire kingdom, which will cause alarm and panic among the people, who will then learn of Lady Darcy’s disappearance. With the consumption of spirits that occurred this evening, I fear that some of our warriors may view this as an act of war. They do adore the Lady Darcy’s visits.”

“You’re afraid that your friends will declare war on a neighboring realm for kidnapping your other friend?”

“Yeah,” Thor nodded. “That about sums it up.”

“So how do we get to Vanaheim before morning?”

“We will need to take a portal there.”

“And let me guess. There’s only one person here who can do that?” Steve’s tone was dripping with sarcasm, and he was frustrated with how easily someone was able to sneak in and take Darcy, but how difficult it was to leave Asgard to get her back. How was that fair?

“Yes!” Thor exclaimed jovially. “My dear brother, Loki!”

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There hadn’t been a door, earlier. Now there was, which was totally not Freaking Darcy Out™. The door, and another platter of food, had appeared when she was deep in thought. She always made fun of Jane for how deeply she focused on her Science!, but now Darcy got it. It was like procrastinating and then bullshitting a paper in college, except this time it possibly hinged on her survival. 

And now all of those plans were thrown out the window, because there was a _door_.

Quickly, she shoved everything back into her evening bag and scrambled over to the door. It looked to be made of heavy wood, rounded at the top, with an iron handle. Briefly, she wondered if this was a trap, and quickly assured herself that yes, it was, but no, she did not care. She pulled the door open, and was greeted with a view of the night sky and a glass spiral staircase that ended in the stone courtyard, but no living creatures. Darcy hitched up the skirts of her gown with one hand, gripped her taser in the other, and hurried down the staircase. Her feet touched the stones at the bottom, and she glanced around again before taking off in a brisk walk. Still no one in sight. She passed a few buildings—a few single-story stone huts and another tower— and several torches before she encountered another soul. 

She heard them before she saw them—talking in a strange, low-pitched language—and ducked behind the side of another building. She poked her head around the corner, and saw three shadows moving in the torchlight. They were as human-shaped as a shadow could be, and they appeared to be armed. Probably guards, Darcy reasoned. _Probably armed guards, which is not good._ She quickly ducked back behind the corner, and looked frantically for somewhere to hide. She was only a few dozen yards from a squat stone building, this one appearing uninhabited. She listened for the approaching guards, noticed that the shadows had stalled in their approach, and took a leap of faith. She scurried across the cobblestones to the small building, and paused along the outer wall. A patterned piece of cloth covered the doorway, only extending down to about Darcy’s calf-level.

  
_Please be empty_ , Darcy prayed, moving the cloth aside and slipping inside the building.

The building was only one room, and the room was illuminated by about a dozen glowing circles in the walls, similar to the one Darcy had been kidnapped through. They reminded her of the portals that had appeared in one of the invasions in New York. She’d seen them on the news, when she and Jane sat in the lab, eyes glued to the TV.

“Maybe one of these can get me home,” she whispered to herself. Still, which one to choose? Odds are, most of them led to places she would rather not be. Darcy studied the portals, looking for an indication of their destination. One showed an image of a jungle, and another showed a dark and icy place that did not look inviting at all. That portal radiated a cold dampness. The one closest to the door showed moving figures in the hazy glow of the portal, and exerted a smoky warmth. Darcy looked closer, and was astonished to find that the figures were dwarves, working in a forge. Another portal contained a galaxy, and another led to a room resembling a museum—stuffed full of glass cases and objects and a rose-skinned being puttering about. 

There was one portal that drew her attention. It showed a brick building and a glass storefront, filled with delicious-looking baked goods. The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from the portal, and Darcy felt mesmerized. She leaned in closer to the portal, to better focus on its contents. Darcy was so distracted in her examination that she didn’t hear the voices of the guards until they were right outside the door.

“Oh, shit,” she muttered, heart suddenly in her throat. The guards were right outside the door—she could see the shine on their boots.

The cloth was suddenly snatched aside, revealing three regal-looking beings with panic-struck faces. One of the guards shouted in a language Darcy couldn’t understand, and she turned and jumped into the closest portal. As she flowed through the tunnel of the universe, she saw the three guards leaning over the portal entrance.

She landed in a pile of dirty snow with the breath knocked out of her. The portal closed, and Darcy lost her view of the guards and the realm she had left. It was freezing, and she hissed at the cold snow on her bare hands. Every sliver of bare skin stung in the cold, and the wind ripped through her gown.

Darcy struggled to ger her bearings. It looked like she was in an alleyway, judging from the brick walls on either side of her. At the end, a bustling sidewalk full of people—real, human people—and the chaotic sound of a mix of languages awaited her. The bakery from the portal preview was across the street. She could stop in and stay warm there, and use her phone to call Pepper. Darcy wasn’t entirely sure where she was, but Jarvis would be able to pinpoint her location and Pepper would send someone to collect her. She stumbled out of the alleyway, bumping shoulders with a few individuals as she tried to cut into the flow of traffic.

She barely saw the person before she crashed into them, knocking both of them down to the snow-covered sidewalk. Darcy fell to her hands and knees, scraping her palms against on the cold ground. Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears, and she was vaguely aware of the other person getting up.

She finally focused, eyes landing on a gloved hand in front of her face. “Miss, would you like some help?” That voice sounded very familiar… Darcy’s eyes trailed up the arm to meet the face of her accidental crash victim, and she had to do a double take.

_Steve_. A smaller version, sure, but it was still Steve, and what were the odds? _He did promise to always rescue her_. Darcy was speechless and frozen in place on the sidewalk. A cold wind blew through, leaving any bare skin stinging like she’d been stabbed with pins. Steve was fidgeting with his coat buttons, and sliding his arms out of the sleeves.

“What are you doing out in this weather?” she shouted, voice harsh in alarm. “Put your coat back on!” 

He’d told her about his old life in the 1930s and 40s, before the serum and the war had happened. He’d grown up in Brooklyn, always getting into fights that he insisted were justified. He’d worked at a newspaper drawing advertisements, and at a bookshop as a delivery boy. He’d been sickly, spending a lot of his time in his bed in the apartment he shared with his Ma and, later, Bucky. Natasha had been the one to show her Steve’s old military records, which had listed out Steve’s health issues in black and white. Even Steve had remarked that it was a miracle he was alive, judging by the number of cases of pneumonia he got, let alone his countless other illnesses and conditions.

He ignored her request, and draped the coat over her shoulders. “Steve, you’re going to get sick,” Darcy persisted, but still relished in the warmth from his coat. It still held traces of his body heat, and was a welcome barrier between her and the icy wind. 

“I’ll be fine, ma’am.” He shoved his hands into his pants pockets.

“I’m Darcy,” she said. “Sorry for yelling,” she added, sliding her hand over to grip Steve’s own. He jumped slightly upon contact, and continued staring at her with that same wide-eyed fascination. 

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to hold your hand?” She held his hand all the time. She did more than hold his hand all the time. And he was just as tactile and cuddly as she was.

Steve blinked a few times, flabbergasted. “I see that, but why?”

“Because you’re my soulmate?” Maybe the hand-holding wasn’t a great idea. Darcy reminded herself that while, yes, this was Steve Rogers, this Steve was different than the one she was engaged to in her own time. This Steve did not know anything about her, but she knew seemingly everything about him. She wondered if Steve felt this level of confusion when they met the first (second?) time. 

“Right. That’s…” He seemed at a loss for words, which Darcy found adorable. “You’re actually my soulmate. Darcy,” he said, testing the name on his tongue. “That’s a nice name.”

“Thanks, Steve,” Darcy said with a shaky grin. If only she could get her teeth to stop chattering. _Oh my god, my teeth are actually chattering! I thought that only happened in cartoons._

“How did you know my name? I know I haven’t told you what it is.”

“Uhh…” Darcy struggled to come up with an explanation that didn’t sound crazy. But this was Steve, and Steve would try to be understanding… She decided on the truth. “We’ve met before. I’m—I’m from the future. I know you have a second mark on your arm, because I have one, too. We’ll meet again, one day, as different versions of ourselves.”

Steve took this information rather well, in Darcy’s opinion. “That’s like something out of a science fiction story,” he remarked.

Darcy nodded in agreement. “You’re going to get sick if we’re out here much longer. Are you on your way home?” She was also freezing, and still minorly concerned about alien baddies following her through a portal. She needed to get out of the open, and so did Steve, even more so. His cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, and his lips were nearly white. 

“Yes, yeah. Are you—” He studied her attire for a moment. “Are you headed to a party or somethin’?”

“No, I’m… I know this is a lot to ask, but do you mind if I tag along?” Darcy asked, a shiver racking her body. Her shoes were soaked and her toes hurt from the cold. “I’m kinda running from something. I promise I’ll explain everything, but we’re both in serious trouble if we get caught.”

“Okay? Yeah, come on, my Ma will love to meet you. Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“Dinner sounds great. I swear, I will explain all of this eventually.”

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“Loki!” Thor called as he and Steve strode into the trickster god’s chambers. “We are in need of your services!”

The god in question was seated at a finely carved desk, pouring over a fragile-looking scroll. He jumped upon hearing Thor’s booming voice, and frowned at the interruption. “Thor, brother, you have disturbed me. I’m in the middle of something, and I have not the time nor the desire to amuse your guests and your drunken friends with magic.”

“We have already seen all of your fun tricks, Loki. The Captain and I need a favor.”

Loki’s eyebrows raised in interest. “Oh?” he mused nonchalantly. “And what might that favor be? And, or course, what would I get in return?”

“We need you to open a portal to Vanaheim,” Steve interrupted.

Loki scoffed. “A portal to Vanaheim? A halfway competent child could do that.”

“Give yourself some credit, Loki. You’re at least three-quarters competent,” Thor joked, nudging his brother’s shoulder. Loki was not amused. 

“So you can do it?” Steve clarified. 

“Of course I’m capable of crafting the portal, but why should I?” His mischievous green eyes studied Steve and Thor. “What’s so urgent that you cannot wait for Heimdall to use the Bifrost?”

“They have mistakenly kidnapped the Lady Darcy,” Thor explained.

“Oh. I see.” This news did not sit well with Loki. Darcy was an excellent partner in crime, with a decent mind for mischief and pranks. “I told you many years ago that this tradition would lead to a war!”

“That’s what we’re trying to avoid. That’s why we’re here, instead of taking the Bifrost.” Steve fiddled anxiously with one of his gloves. “I’m really worried about Darcy. I don’t know anything about the citizens of Vanaheim, and I don’t know that this kidnapping wasn’t malicious. The more time she spends with them, the more likely she is to be hurt. If you help us to get to her and bring her home safely, I will owe you one.”

Loki considered for a minuscule moment. “I want the braided bread that you bring back from Midgard,” he said quickly, addressing Thor. “And you owe me a favor, Captain Rogers.”

“Thank you.”  
  
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“Ma!” Steve called, guiding Darcy through the doorframe of the apartment. A wall of warmth settled over them both, a nice change from the blistering cold outside. 

“What?” the voice of Steve’s mother came from another room. A pleasant, comforting aroma wafted through the apartment. “You’re late!”

“I have someone for you to meet!” He pulled his hat off and plopped it on top of the wooden coat rack near the door. Darcy glanced around the room. A clothesline hung near the fireplace, and a small sofa and an end table were placed at the opposite end of the room. A rocking chair sat near the fire, and there was a shelf along the other wall with books, photographs, and a small basket.

“Is she Catholic?” Steve looked at Darcy for a response. 

“Nope!” Darcy called back.

“Excellent!” A small woman with Steve’s blond hair came through the doorway, dish towel in her hands. “Hello, non-Catholic visitor. I’m Sarah Rogers.”

“Hi,” Darcy waved, suddenly feeling awkward. She’d never met Steve’s mother before, and hadn’t prepared herself mentally for the occasion. He’d told her stories about his Ma before, of course, but hearing about the woman didn’t compare to meeting her in the flesh. She had the same build as this Steve, before the serum. She carried herself with a gentle confidence, like the women in those period dramas Clint and Natasha secretly liked to watch. 

“Ma, this is Darcy, my soulmate,” Steve said.

Sarah extended a hand, and Darcy took it and shook firmly. “Nice to meet you, Darcy. Please, call me Sarah. Come in, you must be freezing. Can I get you something warm to drink? Tea, coffee?”

“Thanks,” Darcy replied, “Whichever you have ready would be great.” Sarah went back through the doorway from which she came, presumably to the kitchen. Steve gestured for Darcy to sit down, and then he did the same. He began to remove his shoes. Darcy quickly did the same, but she kept his coat tucked around her shoulders.

“Darcy, you’re soaked through,” Sarah remarked when she brought in a tea tray. She poured Darcy a cup, and Darcy clutched it in her hands, trying to soak its heat into her fingers. “Would you like a change of clothes?” She glanced at the rich purple satin of Darcy’s Asgardian gown. “Those don’t look very warm. Or dry.”

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

A short while later, after changing into a pair of Steve’s sleep pants and a sweater Bucky had left behind (because neither of the dresses she’d tried had fit in the shoulders or the chest), Darcy was settled on the sofa beside Steve, warm mugs of strong black tea in their hands, and Sarah had brought the rocking chair and her knitting over. Both Rogerses stared at her with curiosity, but Sarah spoke first.

“Which one are you?” Darcy had to give her credit—Sarah Rogers was a straightforward woman.

“Ma!” Steve admonished. 

“It’s a valid question, Steven,” she pointed out, finishing another row in the sock she was making.

Darcy shrugged. “I’m both? I have two Soulmarks too, but they’re both Steve.”

“Interesting. How does that happen?”

Darcy took a long sip of her tea. “I, uhh… We’ve met twice. This is his first time meeting me, but I’ve known him for years.”

“You’re from the future, then?” Darcy choked on her tea. Was it that obvious?

“Yes,” Darcy said, knot of nervousness still weighing low in her chest. She still hadn’t looked at a newspaper or asked for the date. 

“How far?” Sarah asked in a whisper of excitement. Darcy looked into her soulmate’s mother’s face, and saw further proof of their resemblance. Sarah’s eyes contained a glint of curious wonder, like a child that sees a magic trick. Or like Steve, when he’s in an art museum.

“Uhh…” Darcy had to think. She knew where she was, but when was a whole other issue.

“What year is it?” It had to be before his mother passed away, which happened in 1938, if she remembered correctly.

“Nineteen thirty-six.”

Darcy did a quick mental calculation. “About eighty years.”

“My God.” Sarah gripped the needles in her hands a little tighter. “You are quite a long way from home, aren’t you?” Darcy nodded, finally considering the gravity of her situation. She couldn’t stay in 1936 for forever, and she didn’t know how she would access another portal to get back to her own time. “And at Christmastime, too.” Sarah tisked, and went back to her knitting.

“Eighty years? So does that mean I get to time travel?”

“Err…” She could say ‘yes’. After all, he was frozen for decades. Waking up after being frozen for that long was, in a sense, time travel.

Steve held up a hand before she could answer. “No, wait, don’t tell me! I don’t want to interfere with the space-time continuum or cause a paradox or anything like that.”

“You’re such a nerd. As far as I know, humans aren’t capable of time travel yet.” Alien species, on the other hand… Darcy’s stomach gurgled. She wasn’t sure how long it had actually been since the last time she had eaten, and she was suddenly aware of how hungry she was.

“Dinner is ready if you’d like some, Darcy,” Sarah said, placing her knitting project in a basket at her feet. “Come, let’s eat.”

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Steve had to admit, Vanaheim was much nicer than he expected it to be. The weather was pleasant, the architecture was beautiful, and its citizens were very eager to provide help and information on Darcy’s whereabouts.

After Loki had crafted the portal and they travelled through, Steve, Thor, and Loki landed in a cobblestone courtyard area. They’d quickly been surrounded by guards that resembled the elves from Lord of the Rings, and taken to the empress of Vanaheim. She had explained, with the help of two religious leaders and three guards who were witnesses, that Darcy had escaped and they were not entirely sure where she was.

“She managed to conjure a door and leave the tower,” one guard said, while another piped up with their account of the events.  
“—on patrol, and checking the veil houses—”

“Slow down, ‘veil houses’?”

“Buildings where they keep permanent portals set up,” Loki explained, “And they can watch what goes on through them.”

“Like that mirror window at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters!” Thor interjected. “Where they can see you, but you can’t see them.”

“How does that help us find Darcy? There must be hundreds of open portals here. She could have gone into any of them.” 

“We’ve narrowed it down to one veil house, and we’ve sent scouts into three portals so far. There’s still another nine to check.”

“How long have you known she was missing?”

“She disappeared in the middle of the night,” one of the robed spiritual leaders answered. It was currently early afternoon—the sun hung high in the sky. 

“And you’ve only checked three?”

“Our days are different from yours. What realm are you from, Captain? Asgard’s days last twenty-eight hours, but here they are only twenty. Your shield sister, Lady Darcy, went missing during the 2 o’clock patrol. She has only been gone for nine hours.”

Steve and Thor shared a look and a silent conversation—nine hours was still too long. 

“Come, our high priestess will escort you to the veil house that your friend disappeared from,” the empress said. She turned slightly to address Loki. “You have the gift of magic, do you not? You are welcome to explore the portals to look for the Lady Darcy.”

“Thank you, empress,” Thor said with a nod of acknowledgement, “for your help.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm completely making up stuff about Vanaheim. Let's just pretend they use portals to travel to other realms and that they can also be used for time travel. *shrugs*  
> I still have some editing to do on part 2, but that should be posted by Jan. 3rd.


	2. Chapter 2

Dinner turned out to be a thick and hearty potato soup, which Darcy decided she _had_ to have the recipe for. Sharing a meal with Steve and his Ma reminded her of the team dinners they sometimes had at Avengers Tower. There were jokes and cute stories told, and Darcy felt content and connected. She’d been lonely in the tower where she’d been kept captive, deprived of casual interaction with another living being.

                Sarah was just finishing a tale of Steve and Bucky’s childhood antics when she cut herself off with a yawn. “It’s getting late, I’m going to turn in,” she said. “I’ve got the morning shift at the hospital tomorrow. Darcy, you can sleep in Steven’s room, and I’ll make up a bed for him on the couch.”

                “Oh, thank you, but I can sleep on the couch. No need to interrupt your regular schedules. I did show up out of the blue.” Darcy glanced at the clock on the mantle. “It is late, isn’t it?” She felt sleepy, but not tired. Still, Steve and Sarah had to sleep. They had schedules and lives that still went on whether Darcy was there or not.

                “You can get to know each other more in the morning.”

 

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Steve and the two Asgardian princes crashed to the stone floor of the veil house with a splash. Breathing heavily and dripping saltwater, Steve managed to untangle himself from the pile of bodies and remnants of giant tentacles holding them all together.

“I don’t think Darcy’s in there. Where was that?”

“One of your Midgardian oceans,” Loki sneered, tossing a tentacle off of his shoulder. “Are you not aware of the horrors that plague your own planet?”

“It’s a giant squid, Captain. Nothing to be too concerned about.” Thor looked like he had just had the most thrilling adventure of his life. “You might focus your worry on the Jormungandr. It is a beast worthy of concern.” Thor wrung out his cape as best he could. “Darcy did _not_ go through the portal to Knowhere, or the one to Jotunheim. The Vanir are checking Nidavellir. Brother,” Thor called out, pausing in front of a particular portal that radiated a clammy chill and the faint scent of sulfur. “To where does this one lead?”

                Loki, still looking perturbed, walked to the portal and extended his hand, hovering it near the glowing surface of the portal. The world inside was dark and shifty, and a thick fog marred the view of any identifying characteristics. “Svartalfheim,” Loki answered.

                “The realm of the Dark Elves.” He hoped Darcy wasn’t there. She’d told him about the Dark Elves she’d encountered shortly before they met, and he’d seen some of the footage S.H.I.E.L.D had captured in London.

                Steve wandered across the room of the veil-house to examine another portal. This one called to him, somehow. Something in the image of the brick building felt familiar. He leaned closer to get a better look at the portal’s contents. It smelled like the apple tarts he and his Ma used to enjoy on her birthday. Steve could make out a display window, some snowdrifts, and a painted door.

                “I think I know where Darcy is,” Steve called to Thor and Loki, who were examining another portal. He was pleased to know exactly where she was. “She’s safe.”

                “Wonderful news, Steven!” Thor exclaimed, bounding over to the portal Steve stood by. “Tell me, where is the Lady Darcy?”

                Steve grinned. “She’s in Brooklyn.”

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                Darcy slept fitfully, surrounded by the unfamiliar sounds of Brooklyn. She had finally given up trying to sleep in the middle of the night, and was wide awake when Sarah, dressed in her nurse’s uniform and a green cardigan sweater, tiptoed out of her room and into the kitchen.

                “Oh, Darcy! Did I wake you?”

                Darcy shook her head. “No. I just had some trouble sleeping. I think my circadian rhythms are messed up from all the time travel.” She sat down her knitting project, about half of what would eventually become a red mitten. “I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed some of your yarn and needles.”

                “That’s no issue. Would you like come coffee? Steve likely won’t be up for another few hours.” The thought of coffee made Darcy’s heart skip a beat. She hadn’t been able to fuel her caffeine addiction the way it deserved in _ages._

                “That sounds amazing, thanks. Can I help you with anything?” Darcy knew how hard Sarah worked, and she wanted to feel useful.

                “You can keep me company in the kitchen, if you don’t mind? And answer a few questions?”

                “Of course.” Darcy followed Sarah into the kitchen, a question waiting impatiently on the tip of her tongue. “Sarah, what’s today’s date?”

“It’s Christmas eve, 1936.” She’d lost so much time in that tower. She wondered if Steve and the Asgardians were looking for her, if they even knew where to start looking.

“Oh.”

                After they prepared their coffee and a plate of toast, both women took their seats at the kitchen table. Sarah spread a thin layer of jam across the surface of one slice of toast, and Darcy took a long sip of her coffee. She rarely drank it black, usually opting for an overabundance of cream, sugar, and flavoring, but this was nice.

                “Darcy,” Sarah said, after consuming a few bites of toast. “I was wondering if you could answer a few questions… about Steven. One of his soulmarks… We’ve never been able to translate it. We can’t even tell what language it’s in.”

                Darcy knew exactly what she was referring to. “It’s Hebrew. Roughly translated, it says ‘that’s weird, but you’re cute, so okay’.” Her face felt warmer than usual, and she was rife with secondhand embarrassment for other Darcy who had such a silly and shallow first line. (Still, she maintained that it was _not as bad as Pepper’s_ _soulmark_. And at least it wasn’t in English!) “At the time, I had been helping my sister with her pronunciation for her upcoming Bat Mitzvah, and my brain short-circuited or something, because at the time I definitely thought I was speaking in English."

                “I see.” Instead of looking disappointed, Sarah appeared amused. “So you’re Jewish, then?”

                “Uhh, sort’ve,” Darcy answered, picking up a slice of toast and spreading jam on it. “Non-orthodox, rarely practicing, but yeah. My parents are a little better at keeping up with it—they go to synagogue and eat kosher and my Nonna made everyone learn Yiddish so we could talk to Bubbe— but none of us kids are really… into it, if that makes any sense.”

                “I think I understand what you mean. My family was Catholic, but each generation practices less strictly than the last. Steven and I rarely make it to Mass. I find some aspects to be… incorrect. But we still say we are Catholic because that is just what we are.” Sarah finished off her piece of toast and took a long gulp of her coffee.

                “Steve says something like that all the time. It’s tradition at this point—we might not believe the actual religious component any more, but the community aspect is still strong.”

                “It’s good for you to have a community to go back to. They help shape a person’s sense of self. Does Steve get along well with your family? He always wished for a brother or sister—James Barnes has been as close as he’s gotten.”

                Darcy grinned, remembering the Hanukkah celebration just a few weeks prior. “My family loves him. Bubbe—my great-grandmother—thinks he’s quite the charmer and she’s convinced that her one role in life is to feed everyone. We all think Steve is her new favorite, because he can eat way more than the rest of us.” Though if Bubbe ever met Thor, or Bruce post-Hulk, Steve would undoubtedly lose his spot as the favorite. Darcy might just have to invite her Bubbe over to the Tower sometime, just to see the look on Steve’s face.

“You said you were from nearly eighty years in the future?” Darcy nodded. “And he’s still alive then?”

“Yes.”

“How?” Sarah asked, sounding completely baffled. “I know science is advancing every day, but I also know that it doesn’t advance _that quickly._ ”

“Err…” How could she explain everything that had happened—will happen—with the serum, and the freezing, and the Avengers? Darcy pursed her lips, considering her words carefully. She finished her coffee, poured a second cup, and drank at least half of it before answering. “The time will come, soon, where Steve won’t have to worry about getting sick any more. He’s the healthiest person I know. He goes running, for miles at a time, and barely breaks a sweat. He can lift cars, and jumps out of planes and burning buildings. He can breathe better, he’s not allergic to anything, and he doesn’t get pneumonia every winter.”

                “It sounds complicated and impossible,” Sarah replied, awestruck. “It’s nothing short of a miracle.”

                That was one way to put it. “Our lives pretty much only consist of complicated and impossible.” Darcy wondered, briefly, if she could confide in Sarah about everything. She’d already decided to keep some of the details from Steve—she had had enough exposure to science fiction to know that too much knowledge about one’s future was definitely a Bad Idea.  But she felt that she could trust Sarah. “Do you want to see some pictures?” She had several on her phone, and pulled up a folder of the most recent photos. She swiped through, showing Sarah the past eighteen months of her life. It was a nice trip down memory lane for Darcy, too—she saw their team movie nights, the two of them at the Women’s March on Washington (“ _I used to take him to picket lines when he was a baby,”_ Sarah had mentioned proudly), her antics with Jane in the lab, Steve and Thor’s arm-wrestling contest, their first shared apartment, the 4th of July barbeque/Steve’s birthday party. She paused at the video of the proposal, sent to her by Natasha.

                “How strange,” Sarah remarked after several photos. “All of your photographs are in this thing?”

                “Yeah. Videos too. We print some of them, to hang on the walls and whatnot.” She swiped to a photo of the most recent game night, where they mistakenly played Monopoly. Sarah, upon seeing the game board, groaned.

                “Last winter he and Bucky spent an entire weekend in the living room, bickering like children over that game,” she explained. “I had to take the game by day three, I couldn’t stand the arguing anymore.”

                Darcy glanced around, then lowered her voice to a stage-whisper and leaned in closer to Sarah. “After the game night in this photo, it was banned from the apartment. None of our friends will play it with him, either.”

                Sarah giggled. “Good for you. He’s my son and I love him, but he’s a sore loser when it comes to Monopoly.” She cautiously stuck out a finger and swiped to another photo, smiling widely with delight when it worked. She looked to Darcy for an explanation of the picture, which showed them standing in front of Cinderella’s castle in Mickey ears and matching Star Wars shirts.

                “That’s our trip to Disney World! It’s an amusement park in Florida based on a bunch of iconic movies.” The next photo was a variation of the last, except instead of beaming at the camera, they were sharing a kiss.

                “You two are sweet. Thank you for showing me these, Darcy.” Sarah placed the phone on the table and picked up her cup of coffee. She stared into it and continued to speak. “I know every mother wants to believe that their children are special, but I always sensed something about Steven. I’ve always worried about his happiness in life, since the universe seems so determined that he shouldn’t be. His soulmarks were a comfort, especially when he was young. There was at least one other person who would love him and appreciate his kindness.”

Darcy grinned. “He’s the best, really. I couldn’t imagine someone better if I tried.”

Sarah Rogers sighed, looking worn down but content. “He’s a good son, and a good man.”

“He’ll be a good father, too, if I ever make it back home.” That slipped out, and she hadn’t meant for it to. _That_ aspect of her life was something she had decided to keep quiet, if only to spare herself of the embarrassing advice and input from everyone she knew. She already knew way too much about the conception of half of her relatives; she could at least spare Steve the stories.

“Oh?” Sarah looked pointedly at Darcy’s stomach.

Darcy looked back at her in alarm. “Oh no,” she explained quickly. “Not yet. It was something we’d been hinting at for ages, we were supposed to make a concrete plan and whatnot.”

                Sarah glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Ach, would you look at the time. I’ll just check on Steve, and then I’ve got to get to the hospital. He’s off today, and I’m sure you’ll figure out something to do. If you wouldn’t mind, you could put up our Christmas decorations?”

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                Steve sat, half-asleep, at the kitchen table with Darcy, who was also starting to feel the need for a nap. He had made himself some toast, and nibbled on it while Darcy worked on her knitting project. She was determined to finish it before Christmas, so she could give the mittens to Steve. She had already rinsed out and washed the coffee cups she and Sarah had used, and was determined to do something useful to thank Sarah for taking her in. The Great Depression wasn’t over yet, and had decided that she was not going to be a burden on the Rogerses. 

                After Steve finished his breakfast and had washed and dried his plate, they went to sit on the living room sofa. “Your Ma mentioned needing the house decorated?” Darcy said, looking around the living room. “For Christmas?”

                Steve nodded. “Yeah, the decorations are in a box in the hall closet. I got in a fight a couple of weeks ago, and then we’ve both been busy with our jobs, so we haven’t had the time to put them up. I’ll go get them.”

                He disappeared for a few minutes, emerging with a medium-sized box labelled ‘Christmas’. He laid it on the floor, then pulled the lid off. “We don’t have a tree, but we can hang the stockings and make garlands out of popcorn and cranberries, and set up the nativity.” Steve began to unpack the box, pulling out three homemade stockings, a set of small wooden nativity figures, one strand of Christmas lights, a tinsel garland, and several glass ornaments, which he took care to handle carefully. “The third stocking is Bucky’s,” Steve explained, “but he’s visiting his gran this year so you can use it.”

                “Where should we put everything?” Darcy wondered, glancing around the room. She wished she were better at this whole decorating thing—when she was interning for Jane in New Mexico, they had Erik decorate the lab for Christmas, and she’d lived in the Tower ever since, and Pepper had hired professional decorators, and then Steve had done it in their shared apartment.

                “Stockings go on the hooks above the fireplace,” he said, and then grabbed the strand of lights. “Maybe...”

                “Do you want to listen to music?” she asked suddenly, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

                He looked at it, face twisted into a puzzled expression. “We don’t have a radio,” he replied, still looking for a spot for the lights.

                “I can play some on my phone,” Darcy explained, holding up said phone in its bedazzled pink case. Her policy was if something could be pink and bedazzled, it should be.

                “That’s a phone?” His forehead crinkled in confusion, and Darcy wanted to kiss his slightly puckered lips. _Whoah, okay there, Darcy, you stop that right now._ Steve barely knew her, and she couldn’t just go around kissing people who thought she was a stranger. But maybe he would be okay with it? _Did he have all of this inner turmoil the first time we met in the future?_

                “Yeah. I can’t make calls or anything here, ‘cause there’s no service, but all of the other stuff works.”

                Steve did not look convinced. “Other stuff? What else could it possibly do? It’s a _phone_.”

                “It takes pictures, and you can read books or listen to music or play solitaire.”

                “Okay? Sure,” Steve said, sounding almost like he was trying to convince himself. “Music would be nice.”

                “Excellent!” Darcy gleefully rubbed her hands together, like she was a cartoon evil villain. “So we have a few options for songs. I have some of your favorite old music on here, which is probably what you’re familiar with. Some Billie Holiday, Fred Astaire, that sort of thing. Or we could listen to the songs you like in my time. Or, a crash course in the evolution of music. I can’t wait to see how you react to ‘80s hair metal. Or,” she grinned wickedly at him. “We could listen to Christmas music, spanning through the decades. What do you think?”

                “Can we somehow listen to a bit of all of those?”

                “Steve, you brilliant human being, that’s perfect.” She tapped a few icons on the screen, yanked the cord to her earbuds out of the phone, and turned up the volume. ‘Cheek to Cheek’ by Fred Astaire began to play, and Steve hummed along, off-key. “So where do you want to put that string of lights?”

                 

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                “The place looks great,” Darcy said, admiring their handiwork. Helping Steve decorate his apartment for Christmas was kinda like helping Jane in the lab—the person who actually knew what they were doing did most of the work, and Darcy was there to hand over the requested tool/decoration and occasionally hold something in place so the genius could consider it from a different angle.

                They had changed the music to just Christmas songs, after the opening notes of a Def Leppard song had startled Steve and he’d nearly fallen off of a kitchen chair while hanging the string of lights.

                “Are you sure?” Steve asked, glancing at aforementioned string of lights, which dangled above the kitchen doorway. He had already taken it down from three different places, and Darcy’s arms were tired from holding it up for consideration in three others.

                “I told you, the gene for decorating must have skipped me. Last year I made you do all the decorating for Christmas.” Darcy shrugged. “I mean, I think it looks nice. I just can’t tell the difference in it being here,” she gestured to the string of lights, “or over there.” She gestured to the wall behind the couch, which had been an option in the back-and-forth debate of where to hang the lights. Bing Crosby crooned quietly in the background, and Steve studied the lights a minute more.

                “I think that’s good,” he decided, then turned to look at the fireplace from a distance. The stockings were hung along the front, and the tinsel garland had been arranged on top of the mantle, with a candlestick placed in the center. The nativity scene was set up on the end table, and had also been the subject of a long placement debate. “So we spent Christmas together last year?” Steve asked. “ _Your_ last year?”

                “Yeah,” Darcy replied. “This will be the third one. Last year we moved in together, and decorating the apartment went almost exactly like this. It’s nice to know the bossiness is an inherent trait of your personality,” she teased, and Steve flushed a light pink.

                “Sorry,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I can stop—“

“Don’t you dare. It’s not a bad thing—I tend to think it’s pretty funny, mostly because you’re not needlessly bossy?” She wasn’t sure how to explain it in a way that made sense.

“Tell me more, I want to know all about it.”

“Well…” So she did. She told him about the tree (“You insisted on a live one, which fell over in the middle of the night and we thought someone had broken in.”), and Natasha’s cat that they had agreed to watch (“It knocked ornaments off the tree every chance it got, the little bastard.”), and the gingerbread house. The Gingerbread House Fiasco of 2016 was, without a doubt, Darcy’s second-favorite story to tell at parties. (Tasing a god was still number one.) It required hand gestures, climbing on furniture, and various voices and facial expressions. She’d had an offer to buy the movie rights and everything.

“Thor was in town, and he loves to watch these cheesy movies on the Hallmark channel.” She then took a brief moment to explain what the Hallmark channel was, what a television was, and that yes, it was the same company as the greeting card makers. “And we decided to watch one with him, ironically. I planned on making fun of it the whole time, but you actually paid attention. Anyway, they made gingerbread houses in the movie, so of course _we_ had to try making gingerbread houses. Except Tony—he’s one of your coworkers, and also our sort’ve landlord—overheard us talking about it and decided that we needed a _lifesize_ gingerbread house.”

“That sounds… really wasteful,” Steve pointed out.

Darcy made an _I know_ face. “Which is what you said when he proposed the idea in the first place. But Tony does what he wants so he built the life-size gingerbread house. In the meantime, we made these cute little normal-sized gingerbread cottages…” And then she got to talk about the decorating, which did not go well on her end. “Yours looked professionally done, and then mine looked like someone had stepped on it and then the cat had vomited on it. Not pretty.”

As Darcy told the story, she watched gleefully as Steve’s face progressed in the same way as all those who heard the story did—concerned to amused to horrified, then relief for a split second, and then beyond horrified—and wished she were filming it.

“We had to move to a different apartment for six weeks while they tried to figure out how to get scorched gingerbread and half-melted candy out of everything. And Natasha’s never had us cat-sit again, so I think that’s a plus. Now we just make sugar cookies for Christmas.” Steve looked to be in a state of shock.

“The future’s a weird place, isn’t it?”

“You really have no idea.”

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                Twenty minutes later, Steve had a smear of flour across one cheek, and Darcy had cookie dough stuck beneath her nails, but there was a plate of a dozen sugar cookies on the counter, and a second batch was in the works. Steve had gotten out all of the ingredients and utensils she listed off, and Darcy mixed up and rolled out the dough. Steve decided on shapes (snowmen and Christmas trees) and had cut out each cookie with a knife.

He told her about Christmases when he was younger, ones he’d spent in the hospital because he was sick, ones he spent in the hospital because his Ma was working, and the one year Bucky’s mom and sisters had come over, because the building they lived in had caught fire a few days before.

“We’ve never had that many people in the house before. It was nice—Bucky’s ma makes good Christmas punch, and his sisters played charades with us, and Ma looked really happy. Having people to spend the holiday with is really great.” He grinned at her, and Darcy’s heart skipped a beat.

The second batch of cookies went into the oven just as the most delightfully atrocious Christmas song began to play. ‘Jingle Bells’, but performed by barking dogs. Steve hated it, and Darcy was glad to see that his reaction was still the same. It might not have been her Asgardian Christmas, but she was having a great time.

They talked while the second batch of cookies baked, and once they were out of the oven and cooling, Steve asked if she wanted to go out and explore. “Do you think it’s safe to go out?”

                Darcy considered what she knew. Surely the kidnappers would have found her by now, if they were looking? And it’s not like they would ambush her in a crowd of people—they had, after all, waited for her to be alone in Asgard before taking her from there. “I think so. Why, is there somewhere you’d like to go?”

                Steve cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “I was—I mean, I thought that maybe you’d like to— go out for a bit. On a date.”

                Darcy beamed. “I would love to go on a date with you, Steve. What do you propose we do?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instant coffee that was halfway drinkable didn’t really exist until 1938, but let’s just pretend it was around in 1936 and still as cheap as it is now. I also know that Steve’s birth year is technically 1918, but at the time of writing decided that he was born the same year as my great-grandmother, in 1915. My headcanon birth year for Darcy is 1991.  
> Yay Christmas fluff! Third (should be final, but I keep finding scenes to add during the editing process so it keeps getting longer) chapter should be up Sunday or Monday.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm completely making up stuff about Vanaheim. Let's just pretend they use portals to travel to other realms and that they can also be used for time travel. *shrugs*  
> I still have some editing to do on part 2, but that should be posted by Jan. 3rd.


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